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My flying car (if Hollywood has taught me anything, it’s that the future always contains flying cars) will be yellow and I’ll use it to pick up men.

Alternatively, I could use it to buzz around with my pack of wild, free-range french bulldogs (you know, in case by that point I have no interest in the opposite sex-having outlived all seven of my husbands-mwhahahaha).

Though I suppose it would have to be an SUV version to accomodate myself and the pack…..

Who doesn’t love the image of an old lady in a cape, her imaginary Zilla friend, and a pack of snorting hogdogs buzzing around Paris in 2082?

Oh yes, did I mention, I’ll be living in Paris at that time.

Not a huge stretch really, considering I live here now, but whatever, a lot could happen between then and now.

No wait, a lot will happen by then. Such as:

-My sandwich-chain shop Zilla’s will start in Paris, but then spread rapidly like a global plague, enticing individuals regardless of race, religion, gender, or sexual preference….scents of the delicious snacks will permeate the atmosphere. This will be the reason aliens come to earth, uttering “take me to your deli”, in a trance-like manner.

-Reruns from the nineties will still be playing endlessly on television to numb the brains of children, but they will refer to the shows as “AFTY” (archaic funny from times of yore). They will only speak in abbreviations by this point, as there is simply not enough time to formulate comprehensive sentences.

-Pet goldfish will be a long-lost thing of the past as a result of the great cat-cultural-revolution lasting between 2056-2065. Also, cats will be severely monitored for suspicious behavior and it will take until 2089 for people to discover the UFA (underground feline association) – a terrorist operation spreading miles deep within the belly of the Earth. Fortunately, I will be dead by then, so this doesn’t particularly matter for me, but figured I’d give a heads up.

-Plastic surgery will become known as TYWWLLR (those years when women willingly looked like robots), and anyone carving into their own face to change it completely will be considered an outcast. The switch doesn’t happen until 2038 and is a result of a gas leak, silicon, and something called GYNRYM “grow your own nose, remove your own in minutes-as seen on tv!!”

-Also, I will have my own version of monopoly. As should we all, dear readers, as should we all.

There’s more, but I don’t want to spoil it all for you. Just figured I’d give you a little peak at some of the great things to occur in my 101 years. Something tells me you all have plans of your own…..

Happy Birthday Great Grandma, I’m not sure how you’ve managed to deal with us all for this long, but here you are, 101 years later….

That’s right. After sending me on a wild goose chase that would have given Sam and Frodo a run for their money, Zilla returned this morning.

She’s been snoozing since eight, but I suspect I’ll get an answer as to her whereabouts later this afternoon.

Here’s what I know:

-She’s wearing parachute pants that are neither worn out enough to be vintage, nor from this decade. I suspect foul-play with that busted up time machine of mine. It would also explain the armor on her right arm, which is either from a Gladiator television prop chest, or the real-deal.

-Her passport has stamps from various countries, including a short-stint in Pakistan earlier this year, which I can assure you-I have some questions about….

-She appears to have acquired real-estate, scuba, skydiving, pilot, taxi, and rickshaw licenses. Two of which expired in the late nineties. One of them appears to have expired at some point in the early 16th century, but the bite marks make it hard to tell for certain.

-She has a tattoo indicating a romance has transpired between herself and what appears to be a mythical creature yet to be identified.

-Her backpack has sandwich wrappers from at least five different airports. There is also an unopened bottle of pickles inside.

-I can’t be certain, but I think she’s lost weight.

-Her journal is hard for me to read (those twiggy branch fingers of hers to blame), but it seems she has either won the lottery in the past, is planning to do so in the future, or has drawn up an assassination plan for JJ Abrams.

I’m going to be having long chats with her in the upcoming days to get her stories and find out why on earth she found it acceptable to leave for such an extended period of time. Unacceptable, I assure you.

Regardless, I wanted to let you all know as soon as she got in.

Obviously, we have much to discuss.

I’ll be traveling around to your blogs in the next weeks to catch up on your news.

I’m Ryan, some people call me Ry. You can if you want to, if not-I have also been known to respond to Ryzilla, Zilla, Buttface, Menace, and Blondie.

I once spent a year referring to my brother as Mutant. I now call him kid-Ginger. He features in the blog sometimes.

I haven’t had a real address in two years. I’ve been traveling and writing. I am in love with Paris and I haven’t lived in the US since 2006.

I have an obsession with sandwiches. Seriously. Making them is an art form, and I’m all about it. If you serve me a dry sandwich, I really don’t know if our friendship will survive.

I write stories about my life, but I try to keep love and dating out of it unless it just happens to be something so ridiculous I feel like sharing.

I was never a cheerleader because I have the coordination of an ox and lack the proper motivation for flipping around in a skirt with a bunch of girls who would kill me in their sleep if given the chance.

I was definitely a drama geek. I’ve been known to dress up in costumes for no reason, and have an ability to convince others to join the festivities. Nothing screams good-time like wandering a public park dressed as a giant foam condiment (ketchup, mustard, or mayo-foreign options also up for discussion).